


To Seek and Find

by coxorangepippin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Magic AU, Quidditch Captain Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-02 11:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coxorangepippin/pseuds/coxorangepippin
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki, first year Ravenclaw and model student, has a terrible secret. He is terrified of flying, and has been utilising a Skiving Snackbox to avoid the lessons.Victor Nikiforov is the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, and the brightest talent to grace the pitch in decades.When the two meet by accident, Victor agrees to teach Yuuri to fly, and they quickly become fast friends, keeping in regular contact even after Victor graduates.When they see each other again after several years, Victor now the star seeker of the Russian National Team and Yuuri the Daily Prophet Sporting Correspondent, will their friendship be rekindled, or will it turn into something more?A short Hogwarts AU, in which Yuuri learns to fly, and Victor learns to fall.





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Altogether now- 'This was meant to be a oneshot'! This is just an unbelievably fluffy short Hogwarts AU, which I had a lot of fun writing, and which I hope you enjoy.

Yuuri Katsuki had a terrible secret.

He was, in nearly every way, the perfect student, a model Ravenclaw, having never received anything less than ninety percent on any piece of homework. His robes were always immaculate, he dutifully wrote to his parents every week, and he always sat at the front of his classes, fighting his inherent shyness to answer the professor’s questions. He had won points in his very first lesson for being the first to cajole his feather into floating through the air.

And yet, Yuuri could never tell anyone the dark and dreadful guilty secret that kept him awake at night, and which caused him to break into a sweat whenever anyone mentioned their timetabled lessons for Wednesday afternoons.

Yuuri Katsuki was afraid of flying.

Every time Wednesday afternoon came around, and the first years were scheduled to go down to the rolling green quidditch pitch for their lesson, Yuuri would surreptitiously duck behind a pillar and unwrap one of the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes ‘Skiving Snackbox’ selection. Usually, it was a fainting fancy, which Madame Pomfrey treated only with an hour’s bed rest and a cold flannel (the first time, Yuuri had taken a puking pastille, learning the error of his ways when even after secretly taking the antidote he had been made to swallow some spectacularly unpleasant potions). He would come down with whatever ailment he had chosen for that day, and rush away to the hospital wing, where he could stay firmly on solid ground.

The other first years in Ravenclaw, Yuuri’s best friends Phichit, Guang Hong and Leo, began to suspect something was amiss after the fourth consecutive week when Yuuri became ill at exactly twelve thirty on a Wednesday afternoon.

No one brought it up until that evening, when Yuuri (miraculously recovered) was sitting with the other first years on the deep blue armchairs in the airy, circular Ravenclaw common room, poring over a fairly complicated potions essay by the light of the candles which hung above them in the shapes of all the major constellations, which cast a bright and cheerful illumination throughout the room.

Phichit, the de facto mouthpiece of the small group of boys, dropped into the armchair next to Yuuri, forcing him to squash up to make room. The others looked up expectantly, wondering what Phichit would say; he only ever invaded one’s personal space quite so blatantly when he had a burning question.

“Yuuri,” Phichit piped, his voice light and deceptively innocent, “Are you feeling better?”

Yuuri mumbled some sort of affirmative reply, hiding his mouth in the robes which were bunched up around his shoulders.

“That’s great,” said Phichit, smiling brightly, his brilliantly white teeth glinting. “So now will you tell us why you’ve been avoiding flying lessons like they’re going to give you dragon pox?”

Yuuri jumped, and sat up straight, his notes sliding out of his lap and on to the floor, where they were promptly used as a bed by Guang Hong’s cat.

“I…I’m not…!” Yuuri protested weakly, his voicestuttering over the lie. He looked into Phichit’s bright smile, and knew that there was very little point denying it; when Phichit found a mystery, he would stop at nothing to uncover it, as Yuuri knew very well by now (his secret chocolate stash had been secret for all of seven minutes before Phichit had sniffed it out).

Leo and Guang Hong were looking on from the opposite armchair, clearly interested in his answer. Yuuri knew that even if they thought his reason was stupid, they were good friends, and they wouldn’t laugh at him. Probably.

“I’m…afraid of flying,” Yuuri confessed, his cheeks turning beetroot red and his eyes lowering to the floor to avoid the other’s gazes.

“Is that all?” asked Leo, his voice kind.

Yuuri looked up, surprised; the other three were looking at him sympathetically.

“I had to practically be strapped to a broom to make me fly the first time I tried it,” Leo said, his brown eyes warm and understanding.

“Me too,” chimed in Guang Hong, ever ready to agree with whatever Leo said. “They practically had to promise me extra dessert for a year, and it still took me forty five minutes to be brave enough to get the broom to move.”

Phichit rolled his eyes, and said “Well of course _I_ wasn’t so nervous, but that’s because the first time my parents put me on a broom, I was four and had no concept of mortality.” He wriggled slightly closer to Yuuri, putting his arm around his shoulders and leaning into the squashy depths of the armchair. “Want to talk about it?”

And so, Yuuri finally confessed the secret that had eaten at his soul since the first time he had heard about their flying lessons, when he had developed his scheme. He told them of his fear of falling, and of his overwhelming certainty that he would make the biggest fool of himself since Hogwarts had been founded. His friends listened, making sympathetic noises whenever he paused, and Yuuri felt slightly less wretched about the whole thing.

“And I wanted to do so well at Hogwarts, like my sister, but I can’t even do the stupid flying lessons, and if someone finds out I’ll be kicked out and it’ll all be ruined!” Yuuri finally finished, his voice getting suspiciously watery, as he sniffed.

Phichit rubbed his shoulder, and Yuuri felt as he had every day since he had first been Sorted; that he was so lucky, so grateful for these boys and their daily presence in his life.

“I think I have an idea,” said Phichit, his voice cheerful, trying toinfect Yuuriwith his eternal optimism. “Why don’t you go down to the broom shed on your own one day and try flying when no one is watching? It’s the idea of making a mess of it in front of everyone that’s really bothering you, right?”

Yuuri nodded, a small bubble of hope blossoming in his chest.

“So then!,” Phichit continued, “You just need to go down after dinner one day, and try flying around it a few times to get the feel. The ceiling is only about twelve feet, and even if you fell from that distance, you won’t do much damage. And then when you’re a bit more confident you can stop skipping the classes. What do you think?”

“I…I don’t know,” said Yuuri, his voice still a trifle wobbly. “Won’t I get in trouble if I’m caught?”

“Nope,” said Phichit, popping his lips around the final ‘p’ with a percussive sound. “I specifically asked Madam Hooch and she told me that it was always left open for students to practice before curfew."

Yuuri nodded, his mind whirring. This way, he could make sure that he wasn’t going to fall to his doom the first time he ever got on a broom in front of half his year, and even if he was terrible at it, at least it would be in private…

“I think I will,” he said, small voice firm. “Thank you, Phichit. And everyone. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, it’s just…”

The others all smiled at him, and went back to their work. When Yuuri went to sleep that night, he made a vow to himself that the next day would be the end of his quidditch-phobia. He turned over, hearing Leo’s soft snore through the dark blue hangings of his four poster, and was quickly asleep.

*****

  
The next day raced by, with the only notable happenings being Leo setting fire to his Charms textbook when practising the new ‘aguamenti’ charm they had been given for homework, and Phichit discovering that Jean Jacques Leroy, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, was now dating the Hufflepuff chaser Isabella Yang. Phichit lived in an ever evolving world of information and gossip, and this, he assured Yuuri, was Big News (though Yuuri remained baffled, he could hear the capital letters in Phichit’s speech, so he dutifully made a mental note of the relationship).

All too soon, for Yuuri, they had finished their meal in the great hall, and he had waved to his friends as they ascended the familiar staircase up to the Ravenclaw common room. Yuuri walked briskly in the opposite direction, wrapping his robes about himself as protection from the slightly autumnal air as he hurried down the sloping lawn, towards the broom shed.

When he reached the door, his dinner now feeling like a lead weight in his midriff, Yuuri pushed it open slowly and was immediately enveloped by the smell of the linseed oil that the Quidditch teams used to oil their armour, and the woody aroma of the brooms that lay stacked in brackets against one wall. The space was largely open, about fifteen feet high, and the brick walls looked reassuringly solid; Yuuri could not fear the open sky here, where it was so obviously excluded.

Sighing, he unpinned his cloak and hung it against the door, walking over to the rack of brooms. Yuuri picked the one that he thought felt most friendly, as it hummed in his sweaty grip.

Walking over to the middle of the floor, Yuuri allowed the broom to hover in mid air, and swung one leg over it, feeling faintly ridiculous.

He was, he suddenly realised, flying, albeit a few inches above the ground. Gaining confidence from the steadiness of the broom handle and the lack of an audience, Yuuri cautiously nudged the broom a few inches higher, and it responded meekly, drifting about a foot over the wooden floor.

Yuuri began to smile. He had thought that the experience would be somehow more dramatic, and now he was chagrined to find that it was, in fact, an enormous anti-climax.

He nudged the broom higher still, and then began to fly slowly from wall to wall, like a swimmer doing lengths. Yuuri’s stomach no longer felt like a bowling ball, and he began to be slightly more daring, moving faster and hopping over the beams that supported the ceiling, weaving through the air with increasing speed. He let out a whoop of exhilaration, and began to fly laps around the room, knocking the odd beater’s bat over but overall, he thought doing rather well considering he had been mortally afraid of brooms only yesterday afternoon.

There was the sudden noise of a door handle turning, and just as Yuuri passed the door, he felt himself catapulted into the air, and landed with a winded huff in the pile of yellow Hufflepuff team robes that lay in one corner.

There was a gasp, and the sound of quick footsteps on the wooden floor, and Yuuri felt himself being extracted from the pile of robes, lifted gently up by the armpits.

He found himself staring straight into a pair of sky blue eyes, set in a pale face which was currently twisted with concern.

“Are you alright?!” asked an urgent and silvery voice. Yuuri thought it sounded like bells.

He nodded, slightly dazed, unable to look away from the blue gaze he was trapped in, dangling apparently effortlessly as the stranger held him up by his armpits. Yuuri recognised him as being a fifth year Slytherin.

The newcomer set him down on the floor, and crouched slightly to look him over, eyes running over Yuuri’s head and face as if checking for damage.

“What were you doing in the air in here? If you wanted to fly, you should have been outside!”

Yuuri blushed, regaining his sense of equilibrium as he broke eye contact with the stranger, and finding instead his sense of embarrassment.

“I was…I was practising,” he half whispered.

“Practising?” asked the stranger, his voice incredulous. “Practising for what?”

“For flying lessons,” said Yuuri, voice now almost inaudible, the tall boy’s eyes still on his face, the blush burning Yuuri’s ears with its intensity. “I was afraid of flying in front of everyone without practising first, and I was doing so well, and…” To Yuuri’s horror, he felt his throat begin to burn and a hot tear escape from his lowered eyes. He shut his eyelids tightly, trying to stop himself making a further spectacle in front of the older student.

The student blinked once in astonishment.

“You’re afraid of flying?” he asked, his voice kind. Yuuri just nodded, still fighting the urge to sit down and sob as he wanted to; just as he had finally done it, just as he had finally conquered his fear, it had all gone wrong!

“Would you like me to help you learn?” asked the stranger. Yuuri looked up at him, shocked out of his misery, tears still streaking his cheeks.

The stranger laughed at Yuuri’s shock, his voice warm. “It’s only fair,” he said, “Seeing as I was the one who interrupted your practice session and knocked you out of the air!”

Yuuri, too surprised to even think of refusing, nodded, his eyes wide. This boy was a fifth year, and must be on the Quidditch team, judging by the double border on his green tie.

“Wonderful!” said the stranger, sounding as though he meant it. “I’d feel terrible if you hadn’t let me make the fall up to you. Shall I meet you here tomorrow night at seven thirty?”

Yuuri, still stunned into speechlessness, nodded again.

“See you then,” said the boy, turning to the racks of practice snitches and choosing one, its golden wings beating in vain against his clenched hand. “I’m Victor, by the way, Victor Nikiforov”.

“I’m…Yuuri Katsuki,” replied Yuuri, his voice small.

“On your way then, Yuuri Katsuki, it’s nearly curfew,” Victor said, his long silver ponytail flicking as he moved to hold the door open for Yuuri. “Seven thirty tomorrow, back here. Don’t be late!”

Yuuri murmured his thanks, and fled, not stopping until he reached the Ravenclaw common room, the eagle on the door seemingly taking pity on him and asking an easy question.

He dropped into one of the armchairs where his friends were sitting, having clearly waited for him.

“So?” said Phichit, his voice excited, “How did it-” He stopped mid sentence, noticing the tear tracks on Yuuri’s face and his wide, shocked eyes. “What happened?” he asked, moving closer, expression concerned.

So Yuuri told them everything, the fun he had had, the fall, and the stranger knocking him off the broom. The others exclaimed at this, until Yuuri reassured them that he wasn’t hurt, only winded. Then, he told them that the stranger had agreed to teach him in recompense for the fall, and that he had said his name was Victor Nikiforov.

The others sat stunned. Phichit whistled, low and impressed.

“Victor Nikiforov agreed to give you flying lessons?”

Yuuri bristled, “He didn’t agree, he offered. Why? What’s so special about him?”

Phichit began to laugh. “Oh my dear sweet child, he’s the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. He made Captain in his third year, and they won the cup, and again in his fourth. Now he’s a fifth year, and Slytherin are favourite to win again this year. He’s probably the best player in the school.”

Yuuri blinked, surprised that the friendly boy who had offered to teach him was apparently such a famous figure in Hogwarts.

“I heard,” said Leo conspiratorially, leaning closer over the arm of his chair, “That the Russian national squad have already talked to him about playing for them when he graduates. You know, he was born there, so they’ll let him play for them.”

Phichit whistled again, and Yuuri began to feel the faint stirrings of panic.

“But…he’s going to be teaching me! And I have no idea what I’m doing!”

Phichit leaned over, and grasped Yuuri’s face between his two warm hands.

“Yuuri Katsuki, by all that you owe me as your friend and as your blood sworn brother-” (“that’s not true”, muttered Leo, but Phichit ignored him with lofty indifference to such trifling details as the truth) “-if you do not allow Victor Nikiforov to teach you, I shall place a different potion in your breakfast every day for a month, and believe me my child the effects will be the stuff of nightmares and legend, passed down from Ravenclaw to Ravenclaw from now until the end of ti-”

Phichit abruptly broke off as the cushion thrown by Guang Hong found its mark. Their discussion soon devolved into a general cushion throwing fight, only ending when the candles above them dimmed, indicating that it was time to be in bed.

Yuuri did assure Phichit before they went to sleep that he would go to Victor’s offered lessons, however. He had seemed kind, and it would be rude not to. And, after all, it might really help him to fly better.

Phichit flung his arms around Yuuri, delighted for this chance to access sources of fifth year gossip previously undreamed of, and fell into bed planning the next expansion of his information empire.

Yuuri fell asleep thinking that maybe flying wouldn’t be so bad, if he had a kind teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unabashed fluff, but I am the biggest sucker for Hogwarts AUs, so forgive me.
> 
> Please comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed <3


	2. Rising

The next evening found Yuuri again descending the entrance hall steps and venturing out into the slowly darkening air. He walked down the sloping lawn to the broom shed, his heart in his mouth- what if Victor hadn’t turned up? What if he had changed his mind about teaching a first year, who wouldn’t ever amount to much?- but when he approached, there Victor was, his long silver hair tied out of his face and his robes slung carelessly over the broom shed door, his white school shirt glowing in the pale evening light.

“Yuuri!” he called, his heart shaped smile lighting the air between them. “You came! How are you feeling today? No more damage from your fall?”

Yuuri shook his head, blushing, and walked over to where Victor indicated a broom already hovering at about Yuuri’s height.

“So! Tonight I’ll just show you the basics. I promise you, you’ll love it, flying is like nothing else!” Victor’s voice rang with sincerity, his eyes crinkled as he smiled, his mouth forming a perfect heart shape.

Yuuri swung a leg over the broom, and looked at Victor expectantly.

“So,” Victor said, “The broom you’ve got there is my old broom, a Nimbus 1990. It’s pretty steady and ideal for beginners.” Yuuri felt oddly privileged to be sitting on the old broom of the Slytherin captain, and devoutly hoped that some of the talent that must be soaked into the wood grain by now would rub off on him. Victor continued, “The first thing to bear in mind is your balance. Lean a little to the right for me.”

Yuuri obliged, shifting his weight ever so slightly to the right, and watched in amazement as the broom obediently began to drift in the direction he leaned.

“That’s how you’ll control direction, and speed,” Victor said, flicking his long ponytail over one shoulder to be out of his way. “The faster you want to go the harder you lean. Now, the thing which you’ll probably find scariest.”

Yuuri gulped as Victor swung a leg over the broom that he held in one hand, which was far sleeker and shinier than Yuuri’s. He leaned upwards, tilting the stick towards the sky, and began to rise very slowly.

From a foot or so above Yuuri, he called “Copy me, and rise a little into the air.”

Yuuri did so, rising slowly, hating every centimetre that appeared between his feet and the ground.

“Unclench your jaw, Yuuri,” said Victor, his voice amused, and Yuuri’s head shot up from staring intently at the ground as it dropped away by inches. “You’ll have a lot more fun if you’re not thinking about the height.”

“But,” Yuuri spoke softly, venturing to speak for the first time that evening, “The height seems to be the point of flying.”

Victor laughed, his voice silvery, and rose slightly higher off the ground. “I thought it might be useful to you to see what you’re aiming for, why you’re learning this, and what’s possible if you work at it. Try and keep the broom steady at about three feet, and watch me. We’ve only got about ten minutes before we’ll have to head up to the castle, so this won’t be long.”

Victor waited until Yuuri was comfortably floating, facing the Quidditch pitch. He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the near darkness, and was suddenly gone in a streak of silver. Yuuri blinked, feeling the sudden rush of air wobble his broom slightly, and looked up at the pitch.

Victor had risen sixty feet into the air (Yuuri felt his stomach drop into his toes at the thought), and was hovering to make sure Yuuri was watching. Yuuri gave a little wave, his hand leaving the broom handle for as few seconds as he could manage. Victor waved back, and Yuuri heard his distant laugh drift on the breeze. Then, Victor began to fly.

He spiralled down towards the ground at a breakneck pace, swerving and looping, then spiralled back up to his previous height. He looped upside down a few times, hurtling recklessly through the air, and then flew the length of the pitch whilst hanging upside down from his broom. He soared into the darkness, spiralling and diving, faster than a firework and far more graceful, and Yuuri thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The freedom, the unconfined space to move as you wanted, no walls, no limits…

And then, Victor was back in front of him, pale cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

“What did you think?” he asked, voice amused as he looked at Yuuri’s starry expression.

“Amazing!” Yuuri breathed, his voice filled with awe, as he gazed back into Victor’s eyes, his nervousness forgotten. “You looked like a bird! Or a firework! Will you teach me to fly like that?”

Victor chuckled at the sudden reversal in Yuuri’s mood; he had been wondering if he would ever lose his terror of speaking to an older student.

“If you come back next Thursday, at the same time, I’ll teach you some more of the basics. Those are the most important things, and if you don’t have them perfect you can’t do what I just did, because you’ll fall off, or miss a turn,” Victor said, his voice serious, trying to impart the gravity of what he was saying into Yuuri’s mind. “I don’t want you practising on your own from now on, alright? Promise me?”

Yuuri, breathlessly eager, said “I promise. So you’ll still carry on teaching me next week?”

Victor smiled at his enthusiasm, as he shouldered both brooms, and began walking back up to the castle with Yuuri trailing beside him. “I think I should be able to manage it,” he said his voice light and teasing, as they walked up the steps into the brightly lit entrance hall. “After all I did promise I would teach you to fly, and we’ve barely covered the basics. Same time next week, alright? Now, off to Ravenclaw tower with you; I don’t want to get into trouble for having you out past curfew. Goodnight!”

He disappeared into the corridor that led to the dungeons, his long hair whipping behind him as he turned the corner, and Yuuri raced up the stairs, eager to tell his friends what had happened. They were all suitably impressed, Phichit most of all.

“He said he would keep teaching you?” Phichit cried, and flopped down on to the armchair, lying in Guang Hong’s lap as though mortally wounded. “I am so jealous that I may never recover. This is it for me. I’m done for. Remember me when I am but a whisper on the wind, sweet comrades, and never-” his voice was cut off as, yet again, Guang Hong dropped a pillow squarely on to his face, with predictable results.

By the time the boys had finished the cushion fight (in which the ink pot on the table had gone flying, leaving a large dark ink splatter on Guang Hong’s now furious white cat), they were all exhausted, and trooped upstairs to bed.

 

The next Wednesday came and went, and Yuuri didn’t miss the flying lesson (though Madam Hooch was somewhat baffled by the new student who had manifested halfway through term). Thursday night rolled around, and Yuuri learned more of the basics of flying from Victor, who was patient and kind with him, pointing errors out gently and firmly.

And so a weekly pattern was established. Every Thursday night, Yuuri would run down to the quidditch pitch with eager haste, and Victor would instruct him, until soon they were both flying loops around the pitch at about twenty feet with no problems. Yuuri had not lost his fear of heights; rather, he had gained faith in Victor’s teachings, that if he respected the broom and kept his wits about him, he would not fall.

Yuuri had also taken to going to the Slytherin practices to try and glean extra tips, watching as Victor drilled his players far more rigorously than he did Yuuri, and without the sunny smile. Quidditch matches, Yuuri thought, must be a serious business if they could effect such a change in Victor. The Slytherin team grew used to the small, dark haired figure watching them play, and dubbed him their unofficial mascot; Yuuri found himself friends with most of the Slytherin team, who would ruffle his hair after practice, and listen seriously to his analysis of their playing style.

One particularly memorable practice near the first match of the season, which was to be held just before the Christmas holidays, Yuuri (bundled up in scarves and thick woollen robes against the chill) had watched the Slytherin chasers particularly closely.

“Why,” he had asked them afterwards in the linseed-scented warmth of the broom shed, “don’t you ever pass backwards?”

The chasers had looked at each other, baffled, until the Keeper had spoken up. “Like in rugby?” he asked inquisitively, and Yuuri nodded, seeing the looks of total incomprehension of the faces of most of the team. There followed an explanation of the rules of rugby, above all the requirement to pass the ball backwards.

“So,” Yuuri continued, small voice piping up after the explanation had finished, “If you passed the ball backwards to another chaser when you got near the goalposts, you could fool the Keeper into thinking you were aiming for one hoop, and then the other chaser could really shoot for another?”

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then, slowly, the buzz of conversation broke out again, with the players debating the merits of the scheme. Yuuri felt a hand on the top of his head, and looked up to see Victor, resplendent in his green and silver robes, smiling his heart-shaped smile at him.

“That’s an excellent idea, Yuuri,” he said, with the little flick of accent in Yuuri’s name that was unique to Victor. “We’ll give it a try next practice, okay?”

When Slytherin won the next match 360-20 against Hufflepuff, they used what they came to call ‘The Katsuki Cross’ several times, to general acclaim from the Slytherins and groans from the other teams, who realised that they would have to try and find a way to counter it.

The flying lessons continued, and Yuuri and Victor began to fly higher, testing the limits of Yuuri’s slowly growing confidence, and Yuuri gradually lost his awe of the school-renowned quidditch star.

 

The Christmas holidays arrived, and with them snow, sixteen enormous Christmas trees in the great hall, and the chance to go home for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts. Victor waved goodbye to Yuuri when the train pulled into the station, and was soon lost among the crowd, smiling as Yuuri called out ‘Merry Christmas!’ to him amongst the babble of voices and pets.

Though Leo and Guang Hong were both going home for the holidays, Phichit was staying with Yuuri that year, unable to stay with his family as they were all back in Thailand; he hadn’t wanted to portkey that far away just for two weeks of holiday. Phichit had solemnly stated that he was too old to miss his parents, but that hadn’t stopped Yuuri from comforting him when he found him homesick one night, crying over a letter from his mother.

When they jumped off the Hogwarts Express into the steam filled station, they were met by Yuuri’s parents, who looked overjoyed to see them both, having heard all about Phichit in Yuuri’s letters.

They flooed from the station to the small village apothecary in the coastal wizarding settlement of Helgasport, where the Katsukis ran a small hot spring, charmed to provide constant fresh hot spring water. The charm was a family secret, passed down in their family onsen in Japan, where Yuuri’s sister Mari now ran the family business, having graduated the year before.

Yuuri’s heart swelled to hear the familiar crashing of the waves in the distance, and the comforting steam of the onsen smelled of home. He and Phichit were quickly settled in, and they sat at the enormous scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen to tell Yuuri’s parents of their first term, drinking tea and inhaling the sweet biscuits that Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, had baked for them.

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold, with two feet of snow lying undisturbed on the ground and scenting the air with a clean tang. Yuuri and Phichit leapt out of bed, and ran downstairs, to where the Christmas tree was waiting with its bounty of presents. The rest of the day passed in warmth and fun, the small family and Phichit exchanging gifts and eating together, before engaging in the mammoth task of building an enormous snowman. Yuuri received a card from Victor, and from his other friends, having sent them all one in return; Victor’s had a small drawing of a broom on the inside, which zoomed across the page and then flowed into the words ' _Hope you’re ready for lessons next term!_ ’

 

All too soon, it was time to return to school. Yuuri didn’t cry when he got on the train, with Phichit’s warmth next to him, but it was a close run thing. Soon they were back into the swing of lessons, both academic and flying, and time began to fly past. Victor continued to instruct Yuuri, patient and undemanding, and even when it became clear that Yuuri had mastered the basics, Victor did not ask him to carry on on his own.

Yuuri once, halfway through the second term, plucked up the courage to ask him why, and Victor had unabashedly replied “Because I enjoy teaching you, Yuuri. Although you don’t realise it, you’re quite a natural, and one day you’ll fly wonderfully, maybe even for your house team.” Then Victor’s tone had grown teasing, and he had continued “And of course I want all the credit for your skill!”

Yuuri had laughed, and the subject had been shelved.

Most of the Ravenclaws, including Yuuri, Phichit, Guang Hong and Leo, had stayed at Hogwarts for the Easter holidays, choosing to get ahead on their exam preparation over going home for the two weeks. Victor had stayed, too, and he and Yuuri had spent a few hours every week flying, without the time pressure of lessons. Yuuri had been allowed to try and catch the practice snitch that Victor himself practiced with, still using Victor’s old broom; the first time he caught it, Victor had whooped and cheered from the ground, and Yuuri had felt so proud that he thought he might burst.

 

Then exam term had arrived, and with it the yearly outbreak of tension and misery in the upper years. Victor was not immune, and he very dejectedly had to put Yuuri’s flying lessons on hold for a few weeks while he studied for the OWLs, his skin acquiring a grey tinge that alarmed Yuuri slightly. Yuuri wasn’t unduly worried about the exams, though the febrile atmosphere had affected him; he found himself tossing and turning at night, reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, or muttering the incantations for charms. Phichit put a stop to this after Yuuri accidentally gave him a very virulent case of hiccups, which required a very nasty tasting potion from Madam Pomfrey to cure, and Yuuri sheepishly agreed to only practice charms at night when his wand was firmly shut in his bedside drawer.

There were nine exams, spaced over five days, and the first years of Ravenclaw all seemed to acquit themselves well, with the notable exception of Guang Hong’s transfiguration practical; he had done perfectly until the very last spell, when he had somehow (and he wasn’t sure how it had happened, because human transfiguration was very advanced and not addressed until the sixth year) given himself a spectacular pair of antlers, rather than turn his teacup into a tortoise.

And then, finally, the exams were over, and it was time for the final Quidditch match of the year, Slytherin against Gryffindor. Slytherin won, largely thanks to the spectacular catch that Victor pulled off, diving seventy feet and pulling out of the dive to snatch the snitch from under the nose of Jean-Jacques Leroy, who had been winking and flexing at his girlfriend in the crowd.

The final feast of the year was, therefore, decked out in silver and green, the points that Victor had won with their victory pushing Slytherin just past Ravenclaw to win the House Cup.

Before Victor left for the summer, he found Yuuri one day near the Ravenclaw common room, holding a long, thin parcel in his hands.  
“Yuuri!” he called, and Yuuri spun round, his face breaking into a smile as he saw Victor coming towards him down the sunlit corridor.

“Victor!” he called, running a few steps towards him and then pausing as he saw the parcel, “What have you got there?”

“Actually, Yuuri, it’s a present. For you.” Victor held the parcel out in front of him, gently pushing it into Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri was so surprised that he didn’t say anything, just peeled open the brown paper, revealing the familiar brown handle of Victor’s Nimbus 1990.

“Victor!” he gasped, his mouth falling open at the generosity of the gift, “This is too much! It’s so kind of you, but-”

Victor held up a finger in front of Yuuri’s face, shushing him very effectively. “Yuuri, this year you have been an absolute joy to teach, and I am greatly indebted to you for reminding me how much joy there is to be found in flying, not just winning Quidditch matches,” he said softly but firmly. “I have a new, shiny, very fancy broom to fly, and this is just sitting in my trunk. I would far rather that you, a promising young Quidditch star,” he winked, and Yuuri blushed, “fly this and stop it going mouldy underneath my potions books. Alright?”

Yuuri, beaming so widely it looked as though his face might crack, nodded, speechless, and then flung his arms around Victor’s waist. Victor paused, surprised, but then hugged Yuuri back, stooping to be able to reach.

“Thank you, Victor,” Yuuri said fervently in a half whisper, “Thank you for everything this year. For the lessons, and your time, and the broom, and everything. You’re the best.”

Yuuri stumbled back a few steps, his eyes over bright, and said “Will you…I mean, would you…can we maybe carry on with lessons next year? I promise I’ll keep working hard, it’s just that flying is so….” Yuuri’s voice trailed off, his hope constricting his throat, waiting for Victor to inevitably refuse him but praying that he wouldn’t.

Victor laughed again and said with a smile in his voice “Of course we’ll continue the lessons! How else will you make the team?”

Yuuri beamed, remembered he was meant to be meeting Phichit, and excused himself, running off down the corridor still calling his thanks over his shoulder, and Victor, still laughing, wandered back down to the dungeons to pack.

Yuuri arrived home that summer with a new broom, and many new friends, and too many new experiences to count. But as he drifted on the Nimbus over the wizarding village of Helgasport, his feet disturbing the billows of smoke from chimneys, he thought that learning to fly might be his favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on Victor and Yuuri's relationship at this point. Victor is the 'star seeker', and has found Quidditch has lost its joy for him of late, because he's been so focussed on winning to maintain his reputation. Teaching Yuuri, and seeing Yuuri's delight in flying for the sake of flying, has reminded him of why he loves the sport so much, and that was initially why he continued the lessons past the basics. Now, however, he and Yuuri are good friends, and he enjoys spending time with him. Yuuri has a unique perspective on life, and Victor finds him adorable, but there are no overtones of romance to their friendship.
> 
> Please comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed! <3


	3. Flying

The weekly flying lessons remained a fixture throughout Yuuri’s second and third years. He and Victor became close friends, and they were often to be found studying together with a group of either Ravenclaws or Slytherins. Victor met and liked Phichit, Leo and Guang Hong; they met and liked Victor’s Slytherin year-mates.

Yuuri proved a very talented flier after all, making the team halfway through his third year in the unexpected position of Beater. Though Yuuri hadn’t shot up in height the way that Leo and Phichit had, he was nonetheless very sturdy, and he had a pinpoint precision with the bludgers that won Ravenclaw a few matches (though not against Slytherin; with Victor as their seeker, they remained the undisputed champions).

At the end of Yuuri’s third year, Victor graduated, and Yuuri cried after the ceremony, realising that this was the end of their time together. Phichit found him, and held him tightly until he stopped sobbing. He whispered to Yuuri as they sat on the cold stone bench of a window seat, with a distant view of the lake, that the people that are meant to be in our lives will find their way back, no matter how far away they have to wander to do so.

Before leaving, as they stood on Platform 9 ¾ together for the last time, Victor drew Yuuri to one side.

“Will you write to me?” he asked, his voice serious. Victor was now tall, graceful, fully grown into himself. His silver hair had, to the shock and dismay of most of the population of Hogwarts, been cut short earlier that year, one lock drooping elegantly across his high forehead. Yuuri, still short, though far taller than he had been when they met, had to tilt his face to look up at him.

“Of course,” he replied teasingly, “How else will I keep up with the inside gossip of the Russian National Team?” Victor had, confirming the rumours, been signed as the seeker of the Russian national quidditch side. It was a stellar beginning to his career, and no one doubted that he would achieve great things, but Victor had confessed to Yuuri one summer evening during their lessons that the pressure scared him stiff.

Victor laughed, but Yuuri heard a slightly off note in his voice. Reaching out a hand (and how his first year self would have fainted to even attempt it!) he gripped Victor’s wrist, staring intently into his eyes. “Victor,” he said, now matching the seriousness of his tone, “You have been the best friend to me anyone could ask for. Of course I’ll write to you. I’ll miss you, and I’ll miss our lessons. I’ll even,” Here he shuddered melodramatically, “Come and visit you one holiday, if they let you touch the ground for that long, despite the ungodly temperatures you’ll be flying in.”

Victor smiled, and his eyes seemed overbright, though Yuuri thought it must just be a trick of the light. He pulled Yuuri into a tight hug, holding him close for a few moments, then stepping away. “I’ll want regular updates, you know,” he said, his voice returned to its usual light, sing-song cadences. “At least weekly. And you’d better not get into too much trouble without me there. Also,” and Victor held his palm against his forehead in an elegantly distressed pose, “Now that I am no longer captain, you have my official permission to beat Slytherin at Quidditch. Just don’t do it too soundly, or it’ll look like I didn’t teach them anything.”

Yuuri laughed, and spotted his parents through the steam. He pulled Victor into another brief hug, and promised solemnly that not only would he write weekly, he would beat Slytherin by the smallest margin of points he could manage.

And then Yuuri was gone, disappearing into the steam, pursued by Victor’s laugh.

 

 

The next year felt off balance to Yuuri, missing as it was the comforting routine of flying lessons he had become used to. Eventually, he got used to replacing them with team practices, though he missed Victor and his friends terribly. Phichit, Leo and Guang Hong missed them too; they had become close in the last few years, and now they all felt the loss.

Yuuri had chosen, along with the other three, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as his elective subjects. These added considerably to his workload, and as his fourth year progressed, Yuuri found Quidditch and studying and time with his friends blurring into a whirl of sound and colour, time sprinting past as though it had a deadline. He found time, though, to write to Victor; their letters settled into a weekly routine. Yuuri would pass on the news at Hogwarts and his own personal stories, and post it every Friday night. By Monday, he would have a reply, Victor’s enormous tawny owl Apollo becoming a common sight in the Ravenclaw common room. Victor wrote of Russia, his feelings of belonging but not quite fitting in to the place he had been born but had never lived; luckily his parents had insisted on speaking Russian at home since he was born in an attempt to preserve their national identity, or he would be even more at sea.

 

 

Victor was doing well, his rise as meteoric as predicted. By the time Yuuri’s fifth year had arrived, merchandise with Victor’s face on it had become very popular internationally, even popping up at Hogwarts. Yuuri teased him about it, saying that soon he would be the only one in Hogwarts not wearing Victor’s face on some article of clothing; Victor retaliated by sending Yuuri an enormous Russian team jersey with ‘Nikiforov’ in big, glittery letters on the back, an animated picture of Victor winking splashed across the front, with an accompanying letter saying that now he had no excuse.Though Yuuri had groaned disgustedly, he hadn't thrown the jersey away.

 

 

At the end of fifth year, the OWLs arrived, and with them a mass outbreak of poor sleep, poorer diet, and absolutely abysmal fights over the rarer books in the library. Ravenclaws in particular were prone to sudden uncontrollable panic, with Leo being the first to set something on fire accidentally from clutching his wand too hard from anxiety whilst reading.

The exams caused even Phichit to lose his perpetually sunny demeanour, and it was even rumoured that he had only been the second person to hear about the dramatic getting together of seventh years Sara Crispino and Mila Babicheva.

But, by the second week of June, they had done all but one of the exams, with only History of Magic left. Victor’s weekly letter to Yuuri wished him luck, and said that he wouldn’t be able to see him that summer as they had both wanted, because his team was going on a tour of Eastern Europe, and as the star seeker Victor would have to be present for all of it.

Yuuri was saddened, but not surprised; Nikiforov had become a household name, after Russia had won the World Cup the year before, with Victor catching the snitch after just seventy-nine minutes. He had put the letter in the drawer were he kept all Victor’s letters, and picked up his textbook again, wondering whether the goblins had specifically chosen their names to be easily interchangeable and therefore impossible to learn.

By the next afternoon, they were finally free. When Yuuri put his pen down at the end of his History of Magic exam, he felt as though three thousand pounds had fallen off his shoulders. The fifth years emerged, blinking, into the sunlight outside, and immediately headed for the lake, flopping down on the grass as though unable to stand for another second.

Leo lay down face first in the sweet smelling grass, and Guang Hong used his back as a pillow, dipping his feet in the cool water of the Black Lake. Phichit wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist and pulled him down, lying with his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and his arm around his shoulders as he groaned loudly and impressively.

“I’ll never recover,” he moaned, “I’m ruined. My skin is not glowing. My smile had lost its brilliancy. My hair is dull and-” Guang Hong, in the absence of the traditional cushion, kicked the water of the lake and flicked his wand, sending a rope of it directly into Phichit’s mouth, which was open mid-soliloquy. Phichit spluttered, outraged, but clearly deciding discretion was the better part of valour, let this instance slide. Instead, he lay back down and shook his sopping hair into Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri, who had never felt so content or comfortable, couldn’t even muster the energy to gasp in shock. The four friends lay there, feeling the tension in their shoulders drain out of them into the ground, and the warmth of the sun on their library-pale skin.

 

 

That summer, Yuuri visited Leo in America, and then they both travelled to Thailand to stay with Phichit, with Guang Hong joining them after a few days. Yuuri’s letters to Victor were full of new words and sights, and he included a moving photograph of himself sitting, grinning, on a beach of white sand, with Phichit sunning himself next to him and Leo and Guang Hong in the background of the picture throwing a beach ball between them. Victor replied that it looked idyllic, and that he sent his love to everyone there; he himself was working harder than ever, gearing up for the next Quidditch season, which started in September.

 

 

The four friends returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year tanned, happy and closer than ever. Phichit had been made a prefect, and Yuuri, to his immense surprise, had been made Quidditch captain.

When he wrote to Victor with the news, he received an enormous parcel the next day, containing a complete set of brand new Quidditch armour and a top of the range beaters bat; along with it was a letter from Victor, overflowing with pride and reminiscing about the frightened first year who had catapulted off his broom and landed in a pile of dirty robes. Yuuri, his throat tight with emotion, had written back that as he remembered it, a kind fifth year had taken pity on that pathetic first year, and that he wouldn’t be anywhere near the team without Victor’s help and guidance.

Yuuri captained Ravenclaw to their first win in fifteen years that summer, his final sixth year match coinciding with Victor’s second successful catch at the World Cup. They wrote to each other with long, blow-by-blow accounts of each match, and replied with equally long analysis of the other’s account, with suggestions for improvements to manoeuvres and playing style.

Phichit cried when the Quidditch cup was awarded, and Leo and Guang Hong started a chant of “Yuuri! Yuuri!” which was soon taken up by the whole stadium, and Yuuri, blushing furiously, had lifted the cup above his head, feeling as though this moment contained more happiness than any one life ought to.

 

 

Seventh year arrived in a blur of books, careers consultation, and panic. Yuuri hadn’t seriously considered what he wanted to do after Hogwarts yet. Phichit already had an offer to work at Madam Malkins, his flair for design winning him the position of junior designer. Leo was considering being a curse breaker for Gringotts, and Guang Hong was set on becoming a healer.

Yuuri, however, couldn’t think of what he wanted to do, and Victor wrote to him and assured him that he was talented enough to go pro at Quidditch. Yuuri knew that it was an option, but… Somehow, deep down, he knew he wasn’t going to go down that route. He loved Quidditch, but he had seen the ugly side of it in the reports Victor gave him of cold mornings, freezing nights, twelve hour practices and bruises that even magic couldn’t make disappear entirely.

Yuuri pondered his choices, until one day he was reading the news at breakfast, and a small advertisement caught his eye.

 _‘Wanted: The Daily Prophet seeks an ambitious, articulate Quidditch enthusiast to join their reporting staff in the Sporting section. Apply by return owl to Mr George Perry. Salary negotiable by experience’_.

A few weeks later, Yuuri received an owl from Mr Perry, informing him that they would be delighted if he would start a few weeks after his graduation. The letter arrived the same day that Guang Hong got his acceptance from St. Mungos informing him that as of September he would be an apprentice Healer, NEWTs permitting, and that night the four friends celebrated in their dormitory with butterbeer and the cake that Yuuri’s mother had sent him by way of congratulations. Victor’s letter about the news was effusive; he was delighted for Yuuri, and even more ecstatic that his Quidditch prowess wouldn’t go to waste, as he could use his excellent eye for technical skill in his reporting. Yuuri sent him back a letter in the form of a mock newspaper article, with the headline ‘ _Breaking! Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain Still Infinitely Grateful for Support and Friendship of International Star Victor Nikiforov!_ ’. When Victor got the letter, he replied by affectionately calling Yuuri a sentimental idiot, but he nonetheless had the letter framed and hung it above his desk.

The two final hurdles that remained to Yuuri, with the question of his career out of the way, were his NEWTs and the Quidditch final. His exams had lost something of their terror, partly due to the fact that his OWLs had been stellar and he had survived them after all, but also partly due to the fact that he didn’t need any particular results to qualify for his new job. Guang Hong, on the other hand, had to fulfil very stringent requirements to be accepted on to the Apprentice Healer Course, and his skin had taken on the grey tone of the perpetually-under-slept. Phichit had eventually resorted to giving him a sleeping potion, and glaring in silence until Guang Hong relented (having caught sight of his reflection) and drank it.

The exams were approaching closer, closer…and then they were over, the ordeal finished, the final academic hurdle jumped. Yuuri thought that he had done well, and now he just had to cross his fingers and wait for results.

The Quidditch final that year was against Gryffindor, the house of Lions having put up a strong showing. Slytherin, to Victor’s disgust, had lost in their second match so badly that they had been put out of the running altogether, no matter what their subsequent scores; their Keeper had taken a bludger to the head three minutes in, and it had been open season for Hufflepuff on the goalposts.

The match was long, dragging on for five hours. Yuuri was anxious, beating the bludgers a little more fiercely than was necessary; in the end, Ravenclaw won, thanks to a spectacular race to the snitch, which was cut short when Yuuri managed to aim a bludger directly at the broom of the Gryffindor seeker. The girl had gone spinning into the grass, where the cushioning charms had saved both her and her broom, and Ravenclaw had won the cup for the second year in a row.

The party in the common room that night lasted until the small hours, with even the older years joining in the giddy excitement of the younger years. When Yuuri eventually collapsed into bed, he could still see the stadium in front of him, still hear the roar of the crowd, and he wondered if this was how Victor felt every time he won a match.

 

A few weeks after the match, there was the graduation ceremony, and Yuuri lined up with his friends to receive his certificate and the handshake of the Headmistress. It was a bright morning, and his parents were visible in the crowd, their beaming smiles filling Yuuri with warmth. At the moment he received his diploma, he heard the Ravenclaw quidditch team cheering, and then it spread to the whole house, until every Ravenclaw present was on their feet and making as much noise as they humanly could. Yuuri, still an easy blusher, went bright red and waved, walking off the stage with the noise ringing in his ears and tears in his eyes.

Phichit grasped his hand, and Leo and Guang Hong a shoulder each, and they stood there together, united, waiting for the end of the ceremony.

 

**************

 

A few weeks later, Yuuri and Phichit finally finished moving all their things into their new flat, and stood surveying their new kingdom. They were sharing the upper floor of an old house off Diagon Alley, and Leo and Guang Hong had the floor below them, which was as perfect as they could have hoped for. Yuuri was starting his new job in a few days, and Phichit was starting the next morning, and was already brimming with plans for how he would change the fashion landscape of wizarding Britain, dragging them kicking and screaming into the twenty first century. Yuuri was just hoping to survive past his first week. Victor, in one of his weekly letters, had assured him that he would, and that he believed Yuuri would be the editor within minutes. Though Yuuri knew he was exaggerating for his benefit, Victor’s confidence in him burned like a small hot coal in his mind throughout his first weeks in his job.

The flat had high ceilings, was painted a very pale blue, and was covered in mementos that Phichit had artfully placed on the shelves that took up one wall of the living room. There were things from Thailand, and China, and America, and even a small crystal from Yuuri’s town of Helgasport. Above the fireplace, there was a framed photograph of the four friends on their graduation day, eyes alight with happiness, throwing their pointed hats into the air with carefree abandon.

 

 

The months passed. Every night, Leo and Guang Hong would come up to Yuuri and Phichit’s flat, or they would go down to Leo and Guang Hong’s, to eat dinner together and discuss their days. They had been mostly successful in their attempts at living alone, with Yuuri proving the most adept cook among them, and Leo the best at mixing drinks.

Guang Hong’s apprenticeship was going well so far. He had been allowed, he told them proudly one day, to remove the venomous tentacula teeth embedded in a man’s leg all by himself! The others were in equal parts baffled and disgusted, but they hid it well, and enthused over that certainty the Guang Hong would one day have a ward named after him.

Leo was enjoying his curse-breaking course so far, but he was looking forward to what he called ‘the exciting stuff’, which involved explosions and ancient curses, and which would be off limits for another year.

Phichit was already bemoaning the trammelling of his artistic talent, having not (as it transpired) been allowed to redesign the entire shop and collection of robes on his first day as a junior designer. However, his designs had proved very popular among the younger customers, and he was gradually gaining in responsibility.

As for Yuuri, he had taken to journalism like…well, initially like a duck to a tar pit. He had found the transition from the forgiving and academic atmosphere of Hogwarts to the fast paced and slightly brutal atmosphere of the Daily Prophet difficult, and he had begun to fear he had made a terrible mistake.

Slowly, though, he had grasped his duties; he was initially only allowed to report on lower level matches, involving regional teams, until he proved himself unusually talented at conveying the fast-paced action of a match in his articles. Then, he had been allowed to report on the higher level matches, and now he had been informed that he was trusted enough to cover the World Cup, this year held in Scotland for the first time in many years.

This news was the best that Yuuri had had in a long time. It meant, as he excitedly wrote to Victor that evening, that they would be able to see each other for the first time since Victor had graduated! The Russian team were coming to England to train for a month prior to the World Cup, due to the proximity to Scotland and the milder weather; and after that, Yuuri would be on site at all times, reporting on all the matches.

The letter he had received from Victor in reply had spat glitter at him when he opened it, making Yuuri laugh as soon as he had got the worst of it out of his mouth. Victor was ecstatic; never one to hold back when happy, he had written four pages to Yuuri containing nothing but delight at their imminent reunion, and suggesting a date and a time for them to meet in London when Victor arrived for training. Yuuri quickly replied with an enthusiastic yes, including a glitter charm of his own for revenge.

 

 

Yuuri continued to work hard at his job, the time flying by, gradually feeling as though he knew what he was meant to be doing. His editor loved his work, and he had nothing but positive feedback from what his editor ominously called ‘The Higher Ups’ (‘it makes them sound like gods’, Phichit had commented over breakfast one morning, ‘which they most assuredly are not. Also, you’re not wearing that to work, for the last time’).

Finally, it was the Monday of the week in which Victor would later arrive. Yuuri had seen Victor's face hundreds of times in just the preceding week, in the newsroom; he was world-renowned, beloved by all, a household name and a living legend. But to Yuuri, he would always be Victor, the Slytherin team captain, who had been the first person to show him the beauty and freedom of flight, and who had been one of his closest friends ever since.

He wondered if Victor had changed much, and whether Victor would think he had. Yuuri had filled out considerably, though he was not as tall as Victor; he had retained his beater’s build, whereas Victor had the long, willowy limbs of a born Seeker. They were due to meet that Thursday evening at seven-thirty (and even the time and day, thought Yuuri, was appropriate; how many times had he met Victor at that exact moment before?) at a restaurant round the corner from Yuuri’s flat.

Victor had written to say how excited he was to see Yuuri again, to speak face to face after so many hundreds of thousands of words written between them over the years, and Yuuri knew that Victor would be glad to see Phichit and the others as well.

 

 

Thursday dawned, bright and clear, and Yuuri found it difficult to focus all day at his desk, eventually leaving early to go home and change. Phichit (as he had taken to doing most days) had left out one of his new creations on Yuuri’s bed, and as Yuuri slid the midnight blue silk robe which fit his lithe frame beautifully over his head, he thought that Phichit had really found his calling.

Yuuri paced for an hour or so, unaccountably nervous, and then decided to get to the restaurant early, to make sure he could see Victor before Victor saw him.

He stepped out of his front door, and wound his way through the ancient alley to the restaurant, hidden on a small side street, its dark green door and wide windows twinkling brightly in the early evening.

Yuuri gave his name, and slid into the booth that he had reserved, facing the door and waiting.

It was twenty minutes before he heard the sound of the door open, and he looked up to see Victor’s face, so painfully familiar, so loved and so missed, in front of him at last.

 

 

Victor looked around, searching for Yuuri, and his eyes initially slid over the attractive man in the dark blue robe. When he couldn’t find the small dark haired figure he was looking for, he searched again; and found that the man in the blue robe had stood, a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

Victor stood stock still, as though struck over the head.

“Yuuri?” he half whispered, taking in the lithe figure, the dark eyes and slim face, the mop of dark hair unchanged since the age of eleven, still untameable and wild. And then, “Yuuri!” he cried, sprinting across the distance between them, hurling himself into Yuuri’s arms.

They held each other tightly for what seemed like a lifetime. So many years had passed, so many letters had been written across continents that separated them, but the basic fact of the connection between them remained unchanged by distance or years. Victor was shocked to feel hard muscle beneath his arms, and Yuuri was overwhelmed by Victor’s nearness, the sudden reality of the moment.

They finally separated, Victor not letting go of Yuuri’s shoulders, and Yuuri not letting go of Victor’s waist.

“Shall we?” Yuuri said, his voice husky with emotion, gesturing towards the booth, and they both let go with a brilliant smile, sliding into the green leather seats, their knees touching under the low table.

“Oh, Yuuri,” said Victor, and Yuuri felt an inexplicable thrill race through him at the sound of his name. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they finally meet again! There's only one more chapter to go!  
> Please comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed <3


	4. Soaring

That evening lived forever in both Yuuri and Victor’s minds as a blur of candlelight and laughter, their speech flowing as freely as it had when they had both been teenagers, suspended in the sky on a Thursday evening above the Quidditch pitch. They took turns to recount every little aspect of their lives that the other had missed, years flowing off their tongues as they exchanged details that they hadn’t been able to describe in letters, and stories that they had forgotten about until now, the candle casting a soft globe of golden light over their faces.

They stayed long past the final bite of dinner (which neither of them had even really tasted, so focussed were they on the other’s words and expressions), and long past the closing hour of the restaurant. The owner, a kind, bent-backed and ancient witch, had indulgently smiled at the two handsome young men on such a wonderful date in her restaurant, and recalled the gold-tinged memories of her own early romances; therefore, she hadn’t _really_ got annoyed at their presence until every other table had been empty for an hour. Finally, she came over with a huff and a raised threatening looking tea towel; waving her wand to extinguish their candle, she demanded that they leave so she could go home and get some sleep.

As though woken from a daze, Victor and Yuuri had apologised profusely, immediately paid, including a sizeable guilt-induced tip (Victor insisted on being allowed to cover the bill, pointing out that he _was_ a world famous Quidditch star after all, and that came with a shockingly overblown salary), and hurried out into the dark street, the old green door of the restaurant shutting with a final, emphatic _click_ behind them.

They looked at each other, smiling and sheepish, Yuuri noticing that to meet Victor’s eyes, he had to tilt his head up at a far less severe angle than he used to.

“Do you want to come and see the flat?” Yuuri asked slightly nervously, not wanting to cut the reunion short, not wanting the night to be over, but very aware that Victor had practice in the morning.

Victor enthusiastically assented, curbing Yuuri’s worries with an assurance that he would be fine, and the two meandered back through the ancient cobbled streets, their laughter echoing off the old stone buildings. They reached the moss-green front door of Yuuri’s slightly ramshackle old house, the window boxes full of violets which scented the night air with their perfume, and went inside.

 

When Phichit got back from work that evening (he knew he didn’t have to stay that late, but _honestly_ , the autumn-winter catalogue as it stood was _ghastly_ and could not be allowed near the vulnerable eyes of the British wizarding public until he had _completely_ remodelled it), he heard laughter issuing from the flat before he had even opened the door. Yuuri’s light and always slightly shy laugh he knew like his own voice, but the other, musical and uninhibited, was not immediately recognisable, though it seemed vaguely familiar.

Opening the door, Phichit was confronted with the cheerful light coming from the crackling fire, and world-famous star Seeker Victor Nikiforov picking up the ornaments that covered the shelving, examining each with a ‘Wow!’ or an ‘Amazing!’, before putting them down and demanding to be told the story behind each one. Yuuri was stretched out on their old blue sofa, his feet on the table (Phichit idly noticed how well the blue silk robe he had laid out for Yuuri complimented him), laughing and telling the tales of their exploits with a beaming smile that lit up his face ( _and most of the room_ , thought Phichit). Each had a mug of steaming tea at their elbow, and the atmosphere of the room was palpably full of joy.

Phichit was, without question, the most emotionally intelligent of their four friends. He was fond of self-reflection, and he often took the time to consider why people acted the way they did, and at this moment in time he had no doubt about his own course of action. Seeing that Victor and Yuuri hadn’t noticed him, Phichit softly shut the door without entering the room, and equally softly disappeared back down the stairs, claiming sanctuary in Guang Hong and Leo’s flat.

When they asked him why, Phichit just smiled, and wouldn’t explain. He had suspected for years, as he watched the letters get longer and the smiles upon receiving them get wider, but he didn’t want to assume too much, or to jinx the outcome of what was unfolding in his flat upstairs. Also, he had a suspicion that Yuuri (who could be utterly frightening when cross, not because he raged and screamed, but because his disappointed expression could break harder hearts than Phichit’s and have them grovelling in apology within moments) would not want him to share news that might not, after all, ever exist.

So, the three friends opened a bottle of wine, and settled in to listen to Guang Hong’s story of the man he treated that morning who had come in with a bad reaction to a billywig sting, who had taken six hours to get down off the ceiling.

 

 

Before Victor left Yuuri’s flat that night, Yuuri keyed him to their Floo access, and insisted that he come round whenever he wanted, night or day. They hugged again, lingering for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary, neither willing to let go, and then broke apart. Victor, face flushed, stepped into the green flames, murmured the name of the hotel he was staying in, and was gone with a rush of sound and a spout of flame.

Victor had told Yuuri, in the preceding hours, of how brutal their training hours were, and how often he neglected both his social life and his sleeping schedule to fit in more practice. Yuuri had replied, in one of his rare adamant moods, that from that point on, Victor would be seeing him regularly to ensure that he didn’t actually turn into a snitch from sheer lack of human contact, and Victor had asked (in an uncharacteristically shy tone) whether he could come back the next night. Yuuri had not only immediately agreed, but had said he would cook them dinner, and the hour had been set.

Now back in his impersonal hotel room, Victor lay back on his bed and rested his head on his crossed arms, a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart that he had forgotten was possible after so long without seeing Yuuri.

Victor was, he admitted to himself, shocked. He had come to dinner expecting to find his dear friend, little Yuuri Katsuki, and instead had been confronted with this handsome and charming man who was so familiar and yet utterly, utterly strange. Victor had felt his heart beat faster as Yuuri laughed at his stories, and commiserated with his recounting of endless hours on his broom in the freezing rain; he himself had been so overwhelmingly glad to see Yuuri that it had been all he could do not to break down in tears there in the restaurant.

And now, Victor thought with a breathless excitement, he would be seeing Yuuri all the time, he was only a few seconds away, and no more waiting on the return of his owl…

Victor took a long time to fall asleep that night, his dreams lit by the same soft glow as the candles in the restaurant, and populated by dark eyes which lit in a familiar smile.

 

When Victor had left (and Yuuri was shocked to see that it was nearly two in the morning when he glanced at his watch for the first time that evening), Yuuri had got ready for bed, meticulously hanging the wonderful robe that Phichit had given him, and finally sparing a thought for his flatmate’s whereabouts. Yuuri wasn’t worried; Phichit often fell asleep on the sofa at Leo and Guang Hong’s, and he was probably spending the night there.

When Yuuri finally pulled the covers over himself and blew out the candle by his bed, the darkness seemed to be a mirror for his thoughts. His mind still whirled with the events of the evening, Victor’s friendship rekindling in his heart like a coal that had lain dormant for years, still ready to spring into life at the first breath of wind.

Yuuri had, when he was about fifteen, reconciled himself to his perpetual crush on Victor. It was impossible not to adore him, all heart-shaped smiles and openhearted kindness, his skill always secondary in Yuuri’s mind to his generosity and wonder at the world around him. Victor’s continual cry of ‘Wow!’ had peppered Yuuri’s adolescence, Victor always ready to be amazed by any new thing that Yuuri pointed out to him, even if it was just the way that the frost had lit up the grass on a winter’s evening.

But now…

Yuuri had not been prepared for the full impact of the world-famous blue eyes of the Russian seeker focussing directly on his own, after so many years of their absence. He had always thought of Viktor as beautiful, but now, meeting him as a man rather than a child, Yuuri began to really appreciate the sharp cheekbones, the long silver lashes and the pale, elegant hands that Viktor waved about carelessly as he spoke.

More than anything, Yuuri had not been prepared for the fierce longing, that he had thought long submerged, to spring back into being stronger than ever as he had hugged Victor in the restaurant. His long, strong muscles, the tightness of his grip, had awakened in Yuuri’s mind fantasies he thought long buried. For a moment, when he and Victor had hugged again before Victor flooed away, his cheeks flushed, it had even felt as though Victor might…

Yuuri snorted at his own ridiculousness. Victor was world-famous, a living legend, a god of Quidditch, and one of the most beautiful men to ever grace the planet’s surface with his presence. And Yuuri was the Sporting Correspondent of the Daily Prophet, unremarkable in every way.

_I should be grateful_ , Yuuri thought as he drifted off to sleep, _for Victor’s friendship, and nothing more. Don’t push your luck, Katsuki._

When he eventually drifted off, a heart shaped smile appeared in his dreams more often than he would ever admit, and Yuuri Katsuki smiled in his sleep.

 

The next morning, Phichit came crashing deliberately loudly into the flat, to give Yuuri (and anyone else that may coincidentally have stayed the night) the chance to wake up before he appeared. He made coffee the muggle way (a soothing habit picked up from his mother, who was muggle-born), and carried it in Yuuri’s favourite mug to the white wooden door of his room.

Knocking on Yuuri’s door, Phichit was rewarded with a sleepy grunt, so he burst in with high expectations. These immediately deflated when he saw that Yuuri was alone in bed, his face tortured as it was every morning, offended by the nerve of the sun showing its face when all decent people should still be asleep and undisturbed. Yuuri, seeing Phichit’s shining morning expression, groaned and pulled the covers over his face.

Phichit placed the coffee carefully on Yuuri’s bedside table, next to his glasses, meticulously ensuring he did not spill a drop. He then, with a carefree abandon and a lithe spring, catapulted himself bodily onto Yuuri’s sleep-warmed form, landing with a thud and eliciting a cry of dismay.

“Yuuri! Beloved! First flower of my every spring and the sun to my moonless night, how did-”

Yuuri, having learned a thing or two from Guang Hong over the years, shoved a pillow into Phichit’s face, curtailing the inevitable soliloquy on Yuuri’s beauty and talent.

When Phichit had recovered from spitting pillow feathers out of his mouth, and Yuuri had had time to put his glasses on and drink some coffee, Phichit sat in a more conventional position on the end of Yuuri’s bed, his legs crossed and his eyes shining.

“So, dear child, how did last night go? I’m sorry I couldn’t come in and say hello, I was kept late at work and then I simply had to go and see how Guang Hong’s day at work had been.”

Yuuri, too full of hatred of the early hour to be suspicious, lost some of his glower when he remembered the previous night. “Oh, it was…wonderful, actually. We’re still as close as we were when he left, and you know I’d been worried it might be awkward.” Yuuri perceived the dangerous expression on Phichit’s face, realised he would never get away with such a cursory explanation, and immediately began to recite with a practiced ease the events of the previous evening, leaving nothing out that he thought Phichit would find interesting, such as the shade of Victor’s robes and his most recent haircut (which had cut the sides and the nape of his neck short, allowing an elegant sweep of his famous silver hair to flow freely across the side of his face). He also told Phichit that Victor would be round again that evening, if he wanted to say hello, and was alarmed at the calculating expression that appeared on Phichit’s regular features.

Phichit (who was slightly disappointed, though he had great hopes of the coming evening) responded with warm assurances that of course Yuuri was still as charming as he had been two years ago, and that their sort of friendship didn’t diminish with distance.

“If I travelled the world for fifty years, beloved, I should still expect to find you as delightful and luminous as you were on the day I left,” Phichit said solemnly, patting Yuuri’s hand reassuringly, his voice bright ( _and entirely too loud for seven in the morning_ , Yuuri thought). Then Phichit glanced at his elegant silver watch, gave a theatrical gasp, and hurried away with predictions of imminent calamity if he hadn’t got ready and left for work within thirty minutes. As usual, he didn’t shut Yuuri’s door behind him, in an attempt to make sure Yuuri got out of bed on time.

Yuuri groaned, ran his fingers through his hair, and flopped back down on the bed to wait for Phichit to vacate the shower. _I love my roommate_ , he thought, only slightly sarcastically.

 

The day passed slowly, both for Victor and Yuuri. Victor was less attentive than usual in his drills and incurred a rare reprimand from his coach, before finally focussing fully on the fact he was fifty feet above the ground and should probably not let his mind wander (however much his stomach curled in anticipation of the coming evening). Yuuri accidentally spilled ink on his latest article (an account of the Holyhead Harpies' latest win), and had to rewrite the entire thing, too embarrassed to ask if anyone could remember the charm to siphon unwanted ink away.

Yuuri spent a good deal of time (in which he should have been thinking about the coming Quidditch season) thinking about what he would cook that evening. Victor would, he knew, be eating a strict diet of protein and vegetables in preparation for the upcoming season, so Yuuri decided to make something simple and easy.

When five o’clock finally came, Yuuri dashed out of the office without even a goodbye to his editor, who bemusedly wondered where the quiet reporter could be rushing off to. Yuuri hurried to the local grocery store, and finally back to his flat, where he set chicken and mushrooms stewing on the old metal stove. He then sat down to wait, wishing he had chosen more labour intensive food, as it might have kept his mind occupied, and therefore unable to dwell on the evening ahead with nervous anticipation (though what he thought might happen, Yuuri couldn’t say).

Victor arrived a few minutes early, unable to sit in his hotel room anymore, and was immediately struck by the mouth-watering smell coming from the small open plan kitchen. Yuuri was waiting for him, sitting on the old blue sofa, and his nervous smile sent a small pulse of electricity through Victor’s heart. Victor smiled widely at him, and the two sat down to eat, resuming their previous evening's conversation easily.

The talk flowed, over water and pumpkin juice (Victor didn’t drink during training). Whereas the night before they had discussed events, people, friends, this evening the conversation moved to talking more about themselves. Victor told Yuuri of how lonely he had found Russia initially, how isolated he had been; his coach, Yakov, had treated him with a taciturn and gruff cordiality, but the other players on the team had resented him, seeing him as ‘not truly one of them’. Victor said it had taken him several spectacular wins to earn their approval, and another few to earn their trust. Now, though he was friendly with a few of them (particularly Georgi Popovich, the lead chaser, whose misadventures in love were a perpetual source of drama), Victor had still not become close to his team, always singled out as he was for special attention and lauded for every word he spoke by the press.

When Victor finished, Yuuri reached across the small wooden table, and gripped Victor’s hand in his own in a wordless gesture of comfort; Viktor placed his other hand over Yuuri’s, and the two of them had sat in that position as they continued to talk, both drawing comfort from the other’s touch.

Yuuri told Victor of how he had missed him initially, how he had always felt as though he was going to run his house Quidditch team into the ground. Victor’s thumb rubbed small circles over the back of Yuuri’s hand where it held his own, and the gesture encouraged him to keep going, and so Yuuri told him the things he had never written about, things that no one else knew other than Phichit. Yuuri spoke in a low voice as the firelight played over his features, of how he had always felt as though he had to earn his friend’s continued approval lest they realise what a waste of time he was and abandon him. He told Victor of the secret anxiety attacks before matches, the breath tightening in his chest until it felt like steel bars, and the tears that had flowed down his face in silence at night when he thought he couldn’t face the responsibility.

Hours passed, and when Phichit came home later that night (feeling he couldn’t pretend to coincidentally be out two nights in a row), Yuuri and Victor still sat, their faces close together over the small table, their hands linked. They jumped apart as he opened the door, breaking their locked gazes, and Phichit and Victor hugged warmly, glad to see each other again after such a long time.

Victor said he couldn’t stay late, as he had an early practice the next morning, and so soon after Phichit got back, he flooed away in a flash of green flame. He had already promised to come back the next night, and Yuuri felt like the luckiest man on earth.

Phichit, seeing the warm glow on Yuuri’s cheeks which was plainly not from the warmth of the fire, smiled to himself, and made a mental note to be ‘out’ again the next night. Phichit loved Yuuri fiercely, but he did occasionally want to flick him in the ear with a floury tea-towel (as his mother had when he was young, and attempting to steal cakes from her still-cooling oven tray), and tell him to kiss Victor before they both died of old age. But he knew Yuuri, and so he kept silent, knowing that Yuri would realise on his own in time.

Phichit couldn’t help but _hope_ it would be before they died of old age, all the same.

 

********

 

Just as they had so many years before, Victor and Yuuri fell easily into a new pattern. Victor would Floo over every night after his practice finished, and Yuuri would cook for them, or Victor would order takeout (to assuage his guilt at eating into Yuuri’s paycheck). Phichit, Guang Hong or Leo would sometimes join them, but Yuuri was the only one of the friends with regular work hours, so usually it would be just he and Victor.

Their conversation had finally encompassed all that they had to catch up on, and now they spoke of their work, their day, the weather, or anything else that took their fancy. Their friendship had always been an easy thing, and that hadn’t changed.

Some things, however, had changed. Yuuri had begun to find himself doodling Victor’s name on his parchment at work (luckily excused by Victor’s fame in Quidditch; Yuuri had passed off a few awkward moments with that explanation). Harder to excuse away had been the fierce blush that had appeared on his face when the Prophet’s sporting office had received the new Russian team headshots for their coverage of the Quidditch World Cup, Victor’s front and centre as the Seeker always was. Yuuri had had to pretend to have a coughing fit to cover that one up, and his editor had started shooting him querying looks when he passed by Yuuri’s desk, his expression slightly bemused as though worried for Yuuri’s sanity.

Yuuri’s friends had all been informed by Phichit of what was going on, and so cut him some slack if he spilled tea on himself in a moment of glazed-over inattention when Victor’s name was mentioned.

Victor, meanwhile, had been more inattentive than ever during practice, even going so far as to be hit by a bludger on one occasion. At this, Yakov Feltsman, the team coach, had invited Victor to his office for a ‘friendly chat’.

Yakov had begun by shouting at Victor, his preferred method of pastoral care, but had found himself shocked into silence (a record event, one which would have gone down in team history if anyone else had witnessed it) by Victor throwing himself at Yakov, hugging him and telling him through tears that he was in love, that the other man was an angel, a comet, a shining beacon of perfection, and that Victor himself was a lowly worm and unworthy of this luminous man’s affection, and that he had no idea what to do.

Yakov had blinked, massaged his temples (losing a few more hairs as he did so), and sat Victor back down in the chair opposite his desk, before offering some surprisingly effective advice; ‘ _Vitya, if you love this man, then surely you will want to do your best so as to make him proud?_ ’

Victor had sniffed, agreed, and found renewed purpose in his practices, surpassing every previous effort in an attempt to live up to what Yuuri thought of his skill.

 

So this new pattern continued for two weeks, until there was another fortnight to go before both Victor and Yuuri moved to Edinburgh for the World Cup. It would be held in a remote location in the Highlands, and the whole event (which encompassed exhibition matches, merchandise stalls, a gamut of wizarding fairground attractions and finally the match itself) would last for a week or so, attended by hundreds of thousands of people.

One rainy Saturday, in which a late summer storm had blown in across the sea and swept the country, the Russian Quidditch team had been allowed to leave practice early. Yakov had told them he didn’t want anyone catching a cold this close to the final, but Victor suspected he just wanted them to have an afternoon off in return for their hard work, and thanked him warmly before flooing back to his hotel and diving into a scalding hot shower.

As Victor cleansed his skin of mud and rain, he wondered what to do with this unexpected bounty of free time. His first thought was of Yuuri. It was a Saturday; he wouldn’t be at work, and he had said to Victor to come over at any time of the day or night…

When Victor was finally dressed, his skin still pink from the warmth of the shower, his mind was made up, the temptation of seeing Yuuri overriding any lingering qualms about manners. He stepped into the Floo, cried ‘ _63 Diagon Alley!_ ’ and let himself be drawn into the spinning flames, before Yuuri’s now-familiar living room finally manifested in front of him.

Victor unfolded himself from the grate and stepped out on to the brightly coloured rug, and saw that the flat in front of him was apparently empty. He immediately knew Phichit wasn’t home, as any house with Phichit in could never be this quiet. Victor looked around him, and was on the point of flooing away again until Yuuri came home, when suddenly…

There was the sound of shuffling feet.

“Phichit, is that you?” came Yuuri’s sleep-roughened voice, and Victor suddenly recalled with a start how much Yuuri hated the mornings, and how he always slept absurdly late at the weekends. Victor just had enough time to feel guilty for disturbing his rest, when Yuuri came round the corner into the living room, and every coherent thought fled Victor’s brain.

Yuuri was wearing the glittery, hideous Russian team jersey that Victor had sent him, its colour now faded with wear and use, the glitter still splashed in Victor’s name across the back, his face still winking on the front. He was also wearing ancient Ravenclaw Quidditch Team sweatpants, with his bare feet protruding out from the bottom.

But it was Yuuri’s sleepy, surprised face that stopped Victor’s heart in his chest. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, the dark eyes that sometimes seemed bottomless in their depth uncovered and lovely (though, Victor noted in some distant part of his dazed brain, he adored Yuuri both with and without his glasses). Yuuri’s hair was mussed, half of it sticking straight up from where it had lain on the pillow, and he was blinking owlishly. Victor thought he was the most heart breakingly beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Victor?” he said, sounding surprised, “What are you-”

He was cut off before he could finish the question. Victor, his brain full of nothing but Yuuri, and the overwhelming need for him, crossed the living room in three strides, and placed his strong fingers either side of Yuuri’s face, bending down to touch his lips to Yuuri’s in a soft kiss. Victor felt Yuuri’s warmth against him, his lips as soft as they looked, and allowed himself to drown in the feeling.

They broke apart, slowly, lingering in the moment. The sun slanted into the small living room, and the air was full of the sounds of people in the street below, but for the two figures standing a few inches apart on the wooden floor, time had ceased to exist.

Yuuri blinked up at Victor, looking completely and utterly dumbfounded for a few seconds, before he linked his arms behind Victor’s neck, and kissed him back with a vengeance. Victor picked Yuuri up, letting him link his legs behind his back, and carried both of them back into Yuuri’s room, kicking the door shut behind him with an emphatic _slam_.

 

************

 

When Phichit got back that evening, the apartment was silent, and he assumed Yuuri must be out, knowing that even Yuuri couldn’t still be asleep at seven in the evening. Phichit began to walk to his friend’s bedroom, wanting to tell him about the _world-changing_ new fabric he had just found in a tiny shop hidden off the main street.

As Phichit walked closer, he heard the shower running, and stopped in his tracks. Yuuri never showered in the evening. He was a strictly give-me-my-morning-shower-or-give-me-death person.

Phichit took one silent step closer to the door of the bathroom, before he heard Yuuri’s unmistakable laugh over the sound of the running water, and then the bell-like laugh (now very familiar) of Victor Nikiforov, Star Seeker.

Beaming fit to burst, Phichit silently retreated back out of the apartment, and went downstairs to Leo and Guang Hong to tell them the good news, and also to tell them to stay out of the apartment that evening on pain of Phichit’s eternal enmity ( _and probably Yuuri’s_ , he added to himself). They drank a glass of wine to their friend’s good health, and then listened to Guang Hong tell them about his latest patients. Phichit was so happy for Yuuri that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be horrified at the mention of an alarmingly positioned Snargaluff pod, and its subsequent removal.

 

*********

 

Russia won the Quidditch World Cup a few weeks later, and the newly promoted Head Sporting Correspondent of the Daily Prophet, Yuuri Katsuki, covered the entirety of the event with a flair and a passion that won him several awards. The Russian Star Seeker, Victor Nikiforov, had wowed the audience with a spectacular catch, diving seventy feet and only just managing to hang on to his broom as he snagged the snitch from the air, while Ireland’s Seeker had ploughed into the grassy pitch. 

A few months after that, the Society pages of the Daily Prophet reported on an altogether different sort of event, though one which the British wizarding public read just as eagerly.

_The Katsuki-Nikiforov wedding_ , it reported _,_ _was a masterclass in elegance and restrained beauty, and the grooms looked spectacular in the robes designed for them by upcoming star of the fashion world, Phichit Chulanont_. Several pictures were included, which Yuuri cut out and framed, alongside the ones taken by the official photographer.

 

On their wedding day, everybody cried. The best men, Phichit, Guang Hong, Leo and Georgi, were resplendent in deep blue robes, whilst Yuuri and Victor wore dazzling white. Yuuri’s parents and Yakov were there, and they each got through several handkerchiefs before the ceremony even started.

Yuuri and Victor promised to love, cherish and be faithful to each other underneath a canopy of flowers, and both were visibly awed by their own good fortune as they gazed at the man in front of them, their vows glowing with sincerity and love.

Phichit caught the bouquet, and he surprised everyone by blushing, and not saying a word.

 

Yuuri and Victor moved in to a small house in the country, in Yuuri’s childhood town of Helgasport, though they didn’t spend much time there for the first few years of their marriage. Yuuri travelled with Victor, reporting on his matches, and they lived in several different countries, always coming back to London to see Phichit and the others, and to their own house to see Yuuri’s parents. After ten years, Victor, having grown bored with professional quidditch (he felt, as he told Yuuri in bed one morning, that no one was surprised when he won anymore, and it was killing his enjoyment of the sport) retired, and became the Flying Master at Hogwarts. Madam Hooch was delighted to be able to retire with such a competent successor, and Victor quickly became a beloved professor, his patience and kindness as effective on the first years as they had been on a small, terrified Ravenclaw so many years before.

Yuuri continued at the Daily Prophet for twelve years, and was eventually offered a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work at Nimbus, where he came up with some of the best selling broom concepts of the next century, including the Nimbus Arrow, which beat the Firebolt in every test.

 

One Thursday evening, Yuuri and Victor were sitting in Victor’s office in Hogwarts with a glass of wine, having met there before they travelled back to their cottage. Victor, older but still heart-stoppingly handsome, looked at his watch, and then looked at Yuuri, his eyes glittering.

“It’s Thursday night,” he said, his voice inexplicably excited, “And it’s seven thirty”.

Yuuri, bemused, nodded at him, a question in his eyes. Victor didn’t explain, but he grabbed Yuuri’s hand, and led him through the corridors down to the entrance hall. He didn’t stop there, but continued down the sloping lawn, in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, and Yuuri slowly began to realise what was in his husband’s mind.

They stopped, as Yuuri had guessed they would, at the small broom shed, which seemed a lot smaller now that Yuuri saw it as an adult. Victor, his heart-shaped smiling dazzling, pulled open the door, and grabbed two of the practice brooms stacked in the corner, throwing one to Yuuri, whose smile now matched his own.

They mounted up, and flew into the sweet-scented summer air, circling around each other in lazy, graceful loops.

“Do you remember?” asked Victor, his voice soft and reverent, saturated with love which was undimmed by the passing years.

“I remember,” said Yuuri, his voice equally soft, and he flew to catch up with Victor, bringing their brooms parallel, facing each other as they hung in the night sky.

They gazed at each other for a moment, both lost in a different time, a different life, when they were still so young and had just discovered the joy of each other’s company.

Then Yuuri, with an inward smile at what his younger self would say, leaned forwards to kiss Victor gently, his hand resting on his husband’s cheek. Victor hummed lightly in pleasure, and let himself be pulled forwards to meet Yuuri’s lips.

Their two figures hung, silhouetted against the moon, as though suspended in time. For a moment, Yuuri remembered the distance in between him and the ground, his childish fear of falling resurfacing.

But then Victor murmured his name against his lips, and with a sigh of happiness, Yuuri let himself be drawn back into the kiss.

Victor would never let him fall, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's finished! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I know it's fluffy as anything, but sometimes fluff is what you need.  
> I think I might write some more HP AU soon- I'm much too attached to the idea of Phichit in Hogwarts to let him go!
> 
> Please comment/leave kudos if you thought this was any good, and thank you so much for reading my nonsense <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed <3


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